No, it's what happens when I put a resonator mute in the bell of my trumpet and blow G# above high C. I don't do that very often, because the last time I did it three buzzards fell stunned off a gut wagon and all the voles in six counties moved to Wyoming.

God had better, 'cause I won't. Not if they're Charles Lamb, or Bowdler, or whomever.

The first time I read Huck Finn the part about the King and Duke stealing the inheritance and some other parts were left out -- I never read them until college. But! Jim was refered to as in Twain's original, Injun Joe was Injun Joe, the description of the attack planned on the Widow Douglas was left in, the eventual end of the King and Duke was left in...why the parts that were left out were censored I have no idea. And Huck's "Well, then, I'll go to Hell!" still resonants from that first, censored, edition.

The mindset of these atavistic hump-heads is along the lines of "Please don't draw us any pictures of human nature, or human history, or human hopes for the future, or human love. Our philosophy takes care of all that and we don't want to know any more."

You see, the new fascists are so intent upon establishing much more subtle forms of slavery via mind-control and enforced conformity, that they must ensure that the more obvious types of historical slavery aren't even spoken of, except in a context that will push people's emotional buttons in the desired direction...that which supports a climate of fear.

A climate of fear enables the establishment of harsher laws, more restrictions on freedom, more dictatorship in the name of "collective security".

Read the sanitized version of Tom Sawyer. He no longer gets in a fight with the new kid in town...that would be promoting violence. Instead, they have a heart to heart talk that results in them seeing past their mutual differences and joining forces to help resolve disputes between all small boys everywhere peacefully.

The sexist parts are removed. Tom no longer comes to the rescue of Becky Thatcher and saves her from a caning, because that would be disempowering her as a strong female in control of her own destiny. The teacher who canes her then gets arrested for assault on a child, and is committed to a criminal psychiatric facility. He emerges some years later, having repented fullsomely, and founds an institute for non-violence.

Tom no longer feeds "painkiller" to the cat. That would be cruelty toward animals. The scene is removed. Tom's pal no longer pesters the pinch bug, and Tom no longer pesters the pinch bug either. They rescue it from drowing in a puddle and then release it.

The murderous Injun Joe is deemed a stereotype deeply offensive to all Native Americans. He gets re-written as a saintly Native American mystic with special healing abilities. He cures his drunken pal of alcoholism with herbal remedies, and assists the young doctor in overcoming his compulsion to rob graves by taking him on a vision quest. No one gets murdered.

No references are made to slaves or "n-ggers" anywhere! We can't have people knowing that such things were once considered part of the status quo, can we? Slavery might break out again all over if people knew about it, after all...

The new, improved version of Tom Sawyer is a story for our times. It's totally lacking in dramatic effect, boring to read, historically all wrong, completely inoffensive to idiots with a chip on their shoulders, and about as much fun to read as chewing on an old shoe!

It will shortly be inflicted on a generation of unfortunate school children, hunkered down in their Neo-Orwellian classrooms, who will decide Mark Twain was one hell of a bad writer...and they'll never read another Mark Twain story again if they can possibly avoid it. ;-P

Did anyone else listen to All Things Considered this evening? The last story. by Alice Furlaud, was agonizing to listen to--and I sincerely hope it was this year's entry in the April Fool's category. It's listed under "Fun and Games" at the site.

Ok, Rapaire, I take back my leedle joke. Just don't do it again, whatever it was you did. Mom is wise to you. You never knew that she knew, but she knew all along. I knew she knew, too, and knew, too, that you knew she knew not, which was not really something you knew anyway because it was wrong -- she knew. You just didn't know she knew.

Your flaming on this thread has gone far enough. Joe Offer agrees. Your cookie is about to be eaten. Forget trying to log in here during your penance period. Mudcat Justice may grind exceeding slow, but it does grind exceeding fine.

Overcast, threatening rain here in Texas. We may actually get a spring growing season after all! Hey Mom, I dug up a sweet-smelling daffodil, bulb and all, and it's sitting in a pot on my kitchen table. Just like Matha Stewart!

Yeah, I know the feeling. We have Big Lots stores around here and they had the large boxes of Kleenex on a really good sale last week. I picked up about 10 boxes and distributed them around the house where all of our old boxes had been depleted.

So, the weekend is here, the weather is good, I'm feeling better--time to stay in the house and do my income taxes. Whhhaaaaaa!

Hey, Mom, the doctor didn't get mad at me when I fessed up that I dosed myself with a week's worth of amoxil. Said it was a good guess at getting the sinus infection. It just didn't get it all, so I have a stronger one for 10 days to nuke it.

A Sparse Grey Quibble tied on a #32 barbless hook is the favored fly for catching the wily Portneuf River sturgeon. Naturally, it's catch-and-release if you manage to land one. If you hook one and don't manage to land it it's catch-and-eat from the sturgeon point of view.

OOOOH! Google is offering salmon for sale at the bottom! But I didn't log on for that, I logged on to share this:

The 23rd Qualm (Written by a retired Methodist minister. )

Bush is my shepherd; I dwell in want. He maketh logs to be cut down in national forests. He leadeth trucks into the still wilderness. He restoreth my fears. He leadeth me in the paths of international disgrace for his ego's sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of pollution and war, I will find no exit, for thou art in office. Thy tax cuts for the rich and thy media control, they discomfort me. Thou preparest an agenda of deception in the presence of thy religion. Thou anointest my head with foreign oil. My health insurance runneth out. Surely megalomania and false patriotism shall follow me all the days of thy term, And my jobless child shall dwell in my basement forever.

Demne was the son of Cumhail mac Art, a warrior killed before his mother gave birth to him. Fearing for her son's safety at the hands of her husband's killers, she sent him away to be raised by a woman warrior and druidess. They taught him first to be a hunter. When he raced and caught wild deer and brought them back to the women who raised him they decided it was time for him to learn the skills of a warrior.

Not long afterward, Demne came upon a group of boys playing hurley. For several days running he beat them single-handedly, first a quarter of the boys, then half, and finally the entire group. The defeated boys complained about their shameful defeat to their chieftain and at the chieftain's suggestion plotted to kill Demne. They attempted an attack in the water but Demne not only saved his own life but also drowned several of them.

Unable to avoid pursuit by his father's enemies, Demne decided to become a poet. A poet's status in the Celtic society was so high that being a member of that profession would shield him from harm. He took up study with a poet named Finneces who lived near the River Boyne.

The River Boyne was home to a magical salmon that ate nuts from a hazel tree and was known as the Salmon of Knowledge. A druid had foretold that whoever ate first of the flesh of that magical salmon would have knowledge of all things. After many years of watching the salmon, Finneces finally caught it and told his apprentice Demne to cook the fish.

A hunter and warrior Demne might have been but those skills would not protect him from the burning his thumb while the salmon was cooking. He sucked his thumb to ease the pain, thereby tasting the salmon. Demne told Finneces what had happened and his mentor decreed that the young Demne was the one intended to eat the salmon and changed his name to "Finn". Henceforth known as Finn mac Cumhail, he received three gifts that would make him a great poet: magic, great insight, and the power of words.

There were several pieces of The Salmon left, however, and these were gathered up and fed to other salmon and in this way the powers of The Salmon has been passed on over the generations. These fish are kept in a special pool of the River Liffey (WAAAAAAAAAAAAY upstream from Dublin!) and when the time is right are smoked and sent to Library Schools around the world. Each graduate of each school, having been Deemed Worthy to graduate is given a piece of this smoked salmon to eat -- and what happens is so wonderful that everyone that tastes of it craves both the taste of The Salmon and what it brings.

That's why the traditional graduate degree for librarians is called an "MLS". We've camouflaged the real meaning by telling everyone it means "Master of Library Science" but it really means "More Liffey Salmon."